The war room

Born like a dog

decides the rode

born like chicken salad

born like “pascagoula”

sleeping down town pascagoula.

Am falling over me

to be young

ion am falling

over not being weak

transit. ion.

middle of the ville.

think there something

small and french about me

herein little town I attend

me walks about this little lane

greet cats / am french, no?

upto date and disdainful.

Earphones are my will.

(* heather and frank just love wearing matching red shirts)

likes the trainer b/c

he’s completely resistant.

ties us together, is

distinct & precipitous/beyond that.

we machines for eachother

I get off of them the motion

of the machine I put on

kind of

language machine

to situate me/my bigness

is part of a key. like the attitude

of a key.

language machine

of uncertainty held out

and notched

it fits / there it fits

into a metal door

body best made of metal

and heavy and utterly

truck  from the human

desiring hole.

truck body sprawled

on the gunale ‘gonne walle’

band of bodies turning over

greek long horror

I put the language

in bunches on the table

feed the cats

I feed cats cat food

I put these shucks

of language on the table

I make no for a sign

I no w/ a truck

I no blow the shit / No inn

language of my occupation

only out with my truck-

body from the desiring hole

NO in the devisive

touchmyself to

sorrow to the weak hole

touch and metal with

me no dress in sight

the purse is the key

to my body end

sorrow throw the shit in

there/ purse token hole

walk out w/ me no man’s land

the machine life discreate

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>